


Don't Fret

by marimoes



Category: One Piece
Genre: Confessions, First Kiss, Fluff, M/M, Mutual Pining, Paulie can play ukulele, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-13
Updated: 2020-03-13
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:27:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,604
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23128528
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marimoes/pseuds/marimoes
Summary: Paulie wouldn’t say that he’s ashamed of what he’s doing here in secret. Not at all. If anything, he would say that he’s kind of proud. After these last few months of practice he’s gotten quite good, or at least he thinks so, seeing as the yagara that float up to him on occasion no longer spit water at him.His hand curls around the neck of the ukulele, small and delicate under his already calloused fingers, and he starts to play.
Relationships: Iceburg/Paulie (One Piece)
Comments: 5
Kudos: 31





	Don't Fret

**Author's Note:**

> The exact song that inspired this piece doesn't have it's lyrics used here, but if you'd like to get the vibe, I suggest giving it a listen.

Paulie’s favorite spot is a dead end. 

A gem of a place tucked away from the rest of the street. One with a single lamp that tends to flicker out of time once night covers the island, but he doesn’t mind it. He just needs somewhere that prying eyes won’t find him for a while. So, often he will sit here—boots off and feet freely dangling over the moving water of the canals—hidden. 

Paulie wouldn’t say that he’s ashamed of what he’s doing here in secret. Not at all. If anything, he would say that he’s kind of proud. After these last few months of practice he’s gotten quite good, or at least he thinks so, seeing as the yagara that float up to him on occasion no longer spit water at him. 

His hand curls around the neck of the ukulele, small and delicate under his already calloused fingers, and he starts to play. 

The song he starts to play is one he’s worked on for a little over a week now, and he’s just now getting to the point where he can sing along. Playing is like rigging, he’s found, that once your hands get the motions down your mind can focus on other things. 

Other people. 

People that, when they cross his mind, leave Paulie’s neck sweaty and fingers slightly unsteady while they brush against the strings. Shaking his head gently, he tries to refocus on the bridge of the song. It’s a G chord, and then again, and then F. Simple enough. 

A clatter comes from the end of the street and Paulie jumps, nearly falling forward into the canal. With heels digging into the stone wall, he manages to keep himself in place. He’s almost too on edge to be here, but there is no better place for him to go. For if he went to the docks, or even his own home, _he_ would find out somehow. 

Side swept purple hair and slight smile conjure in Paulie’s mind, and with a sigh he falls back against the cobblestone. It’s rough and cold against his back, even through his jacket, but somehow it helps him focus. Taking a deep breath, he lets his mind figure out just where he left off and readjusts his hands.

With the ukulele now laid flat against his stomach, he continues to play. 

The words that come from Paulie’s mouth at first are no more than a whisper. Lyrics detailing nights that seem brighter beside someone else, that with them things seem a little easier, a little clearer in a world that is often so blurry otherwise. 

One day, he’ll play this for someone other than the flower beds that hang a few stories above him. Hopefully for an audience that understands. An audience of one specific person.

Rounding into the chorus, he gets a little louder. There is certainty hanging in his words now, the lyrics feeling much more than something scripted, but rather something he wishes he could find the nerve to say. His eyes close, focus drawing to his hands while he continues to recall the chords. 

“Why should we even bother to fight it now, wouldn’t it be easier to just see each other,” Paulie sings, words heavy in his throat as his heart thuds a little slower in his chest, “wouldn’t we be happier, wouldn’t we?” 

“I don’t know,” Iceburg sighs. 

Paulie’s hands stop at once, frozen in fear, and when he opens his eyes, he finds that same purple hair from his thoughts is now hanging over his face. Iceburg’s smile is apologetic, barely gracing his face at all. 

“I’m sorry,” Paulie says quickly before biting his lip. 

Iceburg’s brows furrow for a moment before he leans back up and waves a hand urging Paulie to do the same. Paulie follows, shakily lifting back up to sit, eyes once again even with the other side of the canal. All that’s there is a stone wall. 

His chest feels like one right about now. 

Before he can turn to try and explain, Iceburg is lowering himself to sit beside him. His own shoes now removed and placed next to Paulie’s boots, and pants rolled up to sit atop his calves. His skin is paler than it used to be and Paulie knows it comes from all his time in the office. 

He misses the tan that used to kiss Iceburg’s skin when he still worked mainly on the docks. Paulie misses a lot of things about those days. 

“You apologize a lot for a man who doesn’t do much wrong,” Iceburg muses, then sighs with a smile, “well, if you don’t think about the collectors.” 

A small nervous laugh blows from Paulie’s mouth and when he goes to set the ukulele down between them, Iceburg’s hand stops him. There is a question in his eyes, and when Paulie tries to argue back with a look of his own, Iceburg pushes the instrument back into his lap a little harder. 

“I didn’t know you could play,” Iceburg says, eyes flitting down to the instruments end. His finger traces the slight curve of the neck before pulling back. “You’re very good.” 

Paulie can feel the rush of blood start to color his cheeks and rubbing the back of his head he looks up at the sky. The stars are harder to see this far into the city, barely glimmering beneath the street lights that swallow them up. What he wouldn’t give for this moment to be somewhere that he could see them. 

They give sailors guidance all the time, he could use some too.

“Nah, I’ve only been at it for a few months,” Paulie dismisses, fingers anxiously rubbing against the strings causing a soft discord to form before he stops.

Iceburg places a hand on his shoulder, fingers digging into the denim gently. He always does this when Paulie tries to dismiss himself, which means he’s done it more than a few times. It seems to be a habit that’s been a hard to break, seeing as Paulie truly doesn’t say anything he doesn’t believe, but he’s learned Iceburg thinks of him differently.

Iceburg thinks more of him than Paulie would like to accept. 

“When am I going to get you to be proud of something?” Iceburg asks, and his thumb starts to softly sweep back and forth. It’s such a simple action, but it turns Paulie’s stomach inside out, nonetheless. “Well, Paulie?” 

Paulie sighs and props the ukulele up against his chest again. Slowly, he starts the song over, eyes fixed to the wall ahead of them. He doesn’t sing at first, but when Iceburg grips tighter again, the words start to stumble from his mouth. Iceburg tries to hum along, soft and unsure of how it actually all goes, but he does it with a smile and legs that sway in time. 

No matter how much he wants to, Paulie can’t make himself look at Iceburg while he sings. As if something in him would combust if he ever had to acknowledge he’s being listened to as intently as Iceburg surely is, his brain protects him. 

When the song finishes, Paulie lowers his hands into his lap and looks over to Iceburg. He’s just as he thought the man would be, eyes soft and smile genuine. 

“Thank you,” Iceburg whispers before pressing his lips into a tight smile, “Now we should probably turn in, don’t you think? Can’t have my best foreman tired.” 

Paulie’s heart races at the word ‘my’, leaving his words to tangle his tongue into a solid knot when he opens his mouth. The only thing that comes out is a soft huff mixed with a crackle before he can shut it. Maybe falling in the canal wouldn’t be so bad after all, he thinks. 

Iceburg pushes off his shoulder to stand and looking up to see the soft flicker of the lamp surrounding him, Paulie feels it hit him all over again. The almost palpable power that the man before him holds. Iceburg feels so far above Paulie—nearly untouchable. 

Iceburg reaches down with an open hand and willing smile, his fingers curling quickly to beckon, and without thought Paulie takes it. When he readjusts to stand, just an inch below Iceburg’s own height and level with his eyes, Paulie again opens his mouth to speak. Only this time words actually seem to form.

If he’s going to take his chance, it’s going to be now when the rest of the world can’t see. 

“Actually, I think I am proud of something,” Paulie says, voice shaking at the end, and Iceburg’s eyebrows lift, “I can always seem to make the most important man in Water 7 smile, and I think—”

Iceburg’s lips press against Paulie’s cutting him off at once. He stays for a moment, and when Paulie doesn’t kiss back, he pulls back with an apology already on his tongue. It never fully forms as Paulie returns the favor, capturing his words with another kiss. 

Paulie’s arm goes slack against his side, fingers barely holding onto the ukulele in his hand, and when Iceburg threads his fingers into Paulie’s hair it clatters against the ground. It doesn’t even register to either man, it only frees Paulie to hook his other hand beneath Iceburg’s jaw. 

When they break apart, lips and cheeks burning red, nothing can be heard but their breath that hovers between them. A soft panting of excitement mixed with uncertainty, and it’s Paulie that breaks the air with a laugh. 

“Alright, I think I’m proud of two things now.” 

**Author's Note:**

> *blows kiss* for meg. 
> 
> Tumblr: @noswordstyle  
> Twitter: @__moes__


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